Beyond My Touch
by Hidden Desire
Summary: Lonely Harry goes home to find the ghost of a recently dead Draco who claims he needs to snog the Boy Who Lived to be able to cross over. Will this end up in a happy Christmas even when the other is beyond their touch?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: We do not, sadly, own any HP character.

Westkitsune: and certainly not Draco, -whines- We were supposed to post the whole story on Christmas, but cause we're busy we're just setting up the first chapter only today and FFn has a three-day can't-post-anything for new members. ELIE made this one, edited by me, and I will make the second one, edited by her.

ELIE: Maybe we could make it into a post-Christmas fic thing. Next, this is my first time writing a Harry Potter fic. So if they're OOC or if I got some of the information wrong, please don't hate me. I stuck with the Harry in denial, Malfoy constantly annoying angle. I don't Draco to be _suuuper_ uke, if you know what I mean. I've quite based it on SasuNaru…

Westkitsune: I think it's brilliant anyway. Whelp, I'm off to write the second chapter. This is dedicated to every story I've ever reviewed or watched - I think if you know me or my name is there in your stats then I'm talking about you.

As/N: This story is inspired by an existing short shounen-ai manga under the same title. It was one of the four parts of the compilation, and just reading the story made us smile. This is a joint work by Westkitsune and ELIE. Hope you enjoy! Oh, and if you loved this please visit other fanfics made by us, on our specific accounts.

BEYOND MY TOUCH

Chapter 1.

There were very few things that surprised Harry Potter. After all, in all his years as an Auror, he was granted access to some of the most gruesome, breathtaking and traumatic scenes ever to cross this wizarding earth. Almost nothing had the ability to make his eyebrows shoot up. But like most things, there was an exception.

And Harry became aware of it just now.

"Dead… How could the fucking bastard be dead?" Harry muttered to himself as he fished for his key in his pocket. In front was the black door to his flat, with the walls covered in chipped white paint and set on one of the outskirts in the city. He continued on muttering as he kept on searching for the elusive key.

Of course, at this point in time, Harry was no longer surprised. He had recovered from the initial shock and was now experiencing denial. You can't really blame him for his reaction. After all, compared to the others, Harry's reaction was quite tame. But all the same, he could never deny the fact that he was surprised. Shocked, even.

But Draco Malfoy, the one who constantly picked on him, bullied him and considered him his greatest rival, dead?

Everything was happening too fast.

* * *

Harry managed to open the door with his now-found key and he then navigated himself in the dark place. He was too lazy to turn on the lights and too shocked about Malfoy's death to stop his muttering. 

He went on about his disbelief after hearing the news that Malfoy was dead. He even managed to mention what a prick he had been when he was alive. But he still couldn't believe that he had kicked the bucket and was no longer among the living. He imagined his life after Hogwarts and he surely imagined the git to be there. He, as usual, would be a prat and would try to beat him in everything he'd do. It seems he assumed too much.

He finally turned on the lights—just because he realized he didn't know his flat _that _well. Harry automatically picked out his schedule for that night - make a sandwich for dinner, watch a bit of television and then turn in. This day was surely unlike any other, he needed more rest than usual. When Harry swept his gaze across the room, he noticed a few very odd things. For one, the place was clean. Well, as cleaner than yesterday anyway. Also, the furniture was rearranged. He could've sworn that small bookshelf was somewhere near the door. But probably the oddest thing inside the room was the presence of a certain individual.

Draco Malfoy was standing in front of him, one hand on Harry's couch, the other on his own hip with that same, lazy smirk pasted on his face. He blinked when the light turned on and turned around at the sound of a squeak behind him, and then grey eyes clashed with green.

* * *

"Oh fuck it," Draco muttered. He was sure Potter heard him because his eyes widened right after Draco said it. It was obvious that Potter was currently speechless and was trying hard to grope for the words to accurately describe what he wants say. 

Draco watched as the brunette tried to find the words that were obviously lost to him—just for the heck of it. Finally, after being convinced that Potter was not going to say anything sensible soon, Draco sighed dramatically and said. "I was thinking of a perfect entrance when you turned on the lights. You have the worst timing as usual, Potter."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Harry finally said, evidently flabbergasted.

"That's not a very nice welcome," Draco told him.

"Who ever said you were welcome? What are you doing, acting like you own this flat?"

"Oh come on Potter, there's no need to be like that," Draco told him pointedly. At this point, he managed to sit down on the couch he was previously struggling hard on pushing.

"You… You…" Harry searched for the words. "You're supposed to be dead!"

"I am. Haven't you heard of the news?" Draco merely smirked.

"Well, yeah. But you're not supposed to be in my living room!" the brunette pointed an accusing finger at the blonde, who seemed unaffected by all of this.

"That is up to me, now isn't it?" Draco's smirk widened. He was having so much fun teasing the Boy Who Lived. It brought back such sweet memories.

Of life.

Of _living_.

_Oh come on, I've told myself about this at least a hundred times_, Draco told himself silently. _Time to grow up, Malfoy._

* * *

"Let's take this slowly," Harry instructed Draco, to which the blonde replied with a nod. "You died. You had some unfinished business and now it's preventing you from crossing to the other side. Is that right?" 

The two were now seated opposite each other. Harry was now back to his sensible, calm self and was trying to figure out the how's and why's of Draco's presence in his living room. So far, they were doing great. But now Harry has to find out what's pulling Draco back. He does want him to have eternal rest. Even Malfoy deserves that much.

"Exactly," Draco replied.

"What exactly is that 'unfinished business' that's holding you back?" Harry inquired. He leaned just a bit closer to Draco. Draco, of course, was aware of this. He covered his blush by smiling slyly.

"I want to _snog_ you," he replied with a grin.

* * *

It took exactly two and a half seconds before Harry could find his voice. It took another two seconds for Harry to figure out exactly what to reply to Malfoy's previous statement. 

"What?" his eyes promptly bugged out at Malfoy's words and he could've sworn his voice raised a pitch higher than intended.

"I said, I want to snog you," Malfoy grinned lazily, batting up his long eyelashes at him. Harry frowned. The bastard was enjoying this!

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" the brunette demanded.

The Slytherin merely shrugged. Harry knew that Malfoy was teasing him. It was clearly written on the prick's pouty, adorable face! But Malfoy must know that he was no pushover. He was Harry Potter. He _didn't _get teased.

"Then you'll have to wait 'til Hell freezes before you can go to the other side." Harry told him pointedly and then stormed off to his bedroom, slamming the door shut on the way.

* * *

How wrong was this? It was Harry's flat and he was the one who stormed off. Malfoy should be the one leaving! Not that his presence was entirely unwelcome… but everything was happening too fast for his liking. And now Malfoy wants to _snog_ him? Where did that come from? And since when? 

Dear Lord.

"Potter,"

Harry whipped his head at the sound of his name. He found a sort-of-transparent, sort-of-not Malfoy in front of him. It was only then that Harry realized that he was taller than the said Malfoy by a few good inches. But that was totally irrelevant to the situation at hand. The blonde peered up at him through the fringe on his forehead, and when silence stretched on the smaller man fidgeted and blushed awkwardly.

"Malfoy," he said—just to be able to say something.

"I'm determined to wait," Malfoy told him, his face dead serious.

"For what?" It was stupid of Harry to even ask when he knew the answer. But he wanted to be sure.

"For you to snog me," Draco replied, his face still devoid of emotions save for grim determination. Harry fancied that he saw something soft pass through those orbs.

"Suit yourself," Harry shrugged and headed back to his flat.

* * *

"Good morning!" 

Harry recognized that voice and that blurry figure even without his glasses. There was no mistaking that shock of platinum head. But he still couldn't imagine Malfoy with a voice _that _cheerful. It simply didn't match his evil and scheming image of him from before. He scrambled in his bed to sit up and then he narrowed his eyes at Malfoy.

"Exactly what the hell are you holding?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Woke up from the wrong side of the bed, didn't you?" Malfoy shook his head. "You'll know what I'm holding once you put on your glasses,"

Harry grumbled but obeyed. He grabbed his glasses from his side table and rammed it up his nose. Yep, Malfoy was right. He did recognize what the blonde was holding.

It was breakfast.

"You can cook?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Of course," Malfoy replied matter-of-factly, as if it was common knowledge.

"Are you sure this is edible?" the brunette narrowed his eyes at the tray Malfoy was holding.

"Are you questioning my cooking skills?" Malfoy asked, obviously insulted.

At this, Harry came to realize a few—but very important—things. First off, no one _ever _cooked anything for him. Ron's pathetic attempt to try to practice on cooking for Hermione at Harry's house is not considered cooking at all. It fell on the category "_creating chaos."_ Besides, the final product looked nothing like normal.

Secondly, he realized that there was more to Malfoy than what he let people think. Harry knew that Malfoy was more than the stuck-up brat he met at Hogwarts before. And that much was proven when he got to know him better. Now, cooking breakfast for him—when he was a ghost—and being kind enough to tolerate his bastard-ness, he realized that there was more to know about Malfoy than he thought.

Third and last, he was never greeted "good morning" the first thing he woke up. Until now, that is. He never let people stay in his flat unless for work-related purposes. The only exceptions to this were Ron and Hermione. And now Malfoy was added to the list. He gave a glance at the apprehensive look that Draco was giving him and felt something stir in his chest.

"Well?" Draco snapped.

"I'm going to eat it," Harry told him, and then grabbed the tray from his hands.

Draco smiled smugly.

* * *

"Would you mind if I asked you to buy some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans?" Draco asked while his hands were busy fixing Harry's books in alphabetical order. 

It was quite some time after Harry first saw Draco's ghost in his living room. In the end, Harry decided to let him stay. He was the reason why Draco couldn't "pass over," so to speak. In return, Draco _tried_ to help him maintain the flat, tried being the operative word.

Draco once attempted to cook dinner for him, only to burn the chicken they were supposed to have. That one time Draco managed to prepare an edible breakfast for Harry, he used the instant kind of hotcakes, the bread on the counter and the left-over orange juice. Although not entirely his work, Harry still appreciated the gesture (though he was not about to tell Draco just that).

Also, Draco had the annoying habit of annoying Harry whenever he could. He would follow him to work, infuriate him and then leave. And because he was a ghost, he could appear almost everywhere he wished. This, needless to say, annoyed Harry to no end.

That part about Draco waiting for Harry to snog him was a complete lie. Harry would've expected utmost patience from Draco, hearing those words but it seems that Draco had no idea what he was talking about when he let go of those words. He nagged Harry to no end, even made a top ten list on "Why You Should Snog Me," and never failed to remind Harry every single day about it.

Even Harry Potter had his own limits.

"Yes," Harry snapped at him. "I _do _mind,"

"All I'm asking for is one pack," Malfoy pointed out.

"Malfoy, you've been asking one too many things this week,"

"What the hell are you talking about? No, I haven't!" Draco retorted hotly.

"Yes, you are!" Harry told him. "First, you ask me to call you by your first name—"

"Which you are yet to do," Malfoy reminded. Harry glared at him.

"Then you ask me to buy a whole new wardrobe because my current one sucks—"

"Well, it does!"

"You also asked me to buy new wallpaper because the walls clash with the couch—"

"I still don't understand why you have absolutely _no_ color coordination,"

"And now you're asking me to go out of my way to buy some candy?!"

"Bertie Bott's is not _just_ candy!" Malfoy told him hotly. "I happen to like them very much!"

"Well frankly, I don't care what you like!"

"I think I've gathered that much," Draco snapped at him. His glare met Harry's and the two were now engaged in a fierce glaring battle of some sort.

"This is stupid. I'm going to work," Harry said through clenched teeth. He grabbed his coat and left Malfoy with the dictionary in his hand.

* * *

_Why does that prick have this much effect on me?_ Harry grumbled as he stared at the pile of paperwork on his table. He hasn't done anything productive so far because this morning's argument kept replaying in his mind. They fight, of course. It's practically automatic that every time they're in the same room, fighting is inevitable. _I can't even work because of him!_

Tired and resigned, Harry decided to leave the paperwork for tomorrow. There was no way in hell that he would be able to work with him and Draco in not very good terms. He then decided to go home, confront Draco and settle this whole snog-me-or-I'll-stay-here-forever thing.

Not that he didn't like Draco.

He liked Draco, actually. He hoped that at the end of Hogwarts, they'd be able to be good friends. But fate was too quick for both of them and now, Draco was dead. Harry thought that that was the end of it. That the friendship he and Draco shared—although brief—would be enough to last his lifetime. And yet, fate managed to surprise him once more by bringing Draco to his flat, claiming that he needs to snog Harry to be able to cross over to the other side.

Did he want to snog Draco?

He didn't know, really.

* * *

Once Harry reached the same black door that leads to his flat, his hand automatically went to his pocket, searching for his key. He was already thinking of what he'll tell Malfoy. He'd open the conversation with: "That fight this morning was completely immature." Depending on Malfoy's reply, he may or may not apologize. 

He hoped he'd apologize. He didn't want to keep fighting with Malfoy. It was affecting his work. And dammit, it was making him feel certain feelings such as guilt and the desire to ask for forgiveness. Feelings he'd rather not have, thank you very much.

Harry opened the door. 'You can do this,' he chanted to himself like a mantra. His heart gave a little leap as he saw Draco in the middle of the room, arranging the magazines that were lying on the floor that morning. He was determined to start the conversation while Draco was determined to ignore him.

Harry opened his mouth to speak when he saw something very, very weird.

"Malfoy, what's happening to your hands?" Harry asked, almost urgently.

"What about my—oh fuck!" Malfoy stared at his hands in horror.

His hands were fading.

* * *

_To Be Continued_

Westkitsune: Well dearer, Harry's been a right bastard to Draco all this time, what will happen now that Draco's' fading? Dum dum dum!

ELIE: Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimers: We do not own any HP character. And no, not even Draco.

Westkitsune: Whew, finished, done and through! I'm so proud of this baby of mine. –gets all teary- Off it goes to ELIE-chan for editing! Oh and a hearty thanks to those who reviewed 'Mine', you guys made my day.

As/N: Once again, this story is inspired by an existing Manga under the same title. Just to clarify, Draco is a sort of corporeal ghost more solid than most, but not enough, cause remember, he's still dead. This is due to the reason that in order to fulfill his unfinished business in general he still has to be able to touch. Think of it like Casper (the friendly ghost).

BEYOND MY TOUCH

Chapter 2.

_The place was filled with people garbed in black. Their faces were twisted either in sympathy or in smug smiles. House-elves bustled around, serving tea or so. The press and media were there. After all, the death of the youngest Death Eater and Order Spy was the only juicy story since Voldemort was defeated. Aurors were hanging around the place, still unsure of who committed the crime that resulted in this event. "It was revenge for the traitor," they said, "done by ex-Death Eaters."_

_On the middle of the lobby at Malfoy Manor, at the center of all the grim silences and greetings, was a shiny black coffin. On top of it laid a bouquet of flowers and beside the beautiful narcissus was a picture of a young man with hair a silken gold and eyes a burning silver. He was the last of the Malfoy line, only one in that line to help the Order defeat Voldemort in the end. People gathered, some saying he deserved it, some shaking their head at the loss. On the far side of the hall, near the doorway, stood another young man, alive and breathing, dark jet-black hair shadowing his features as he looked on. He was in shock, but he shook his head. Draco Malfoy's death was just another casualty of the war. _

_Harry Potter turned and walked away, back to his flat, mind still reeling and in confusion._

* * *

They never mentioned that incident once again. Harry, going through in the stages of denial that he was famous for, didn't want to dwell on the idea of Malfoy's hand, or even relatively any part of his body for that matter, fading. Draco on the other hand knew that there was something inevitable bound to happen.

His time was running out.

Draco didn't think mentioning this little tidbit of information to Harry would be a very wise idea. The brunette had been in a fix lately, uptight and irritated. He even screamed bloody murder when Draco stumbled into the toilet while Harry was taking a bath, and while his ghost-self had meeped and blatantly stared at the bare-naked expanse of flesh, all the way up to those angry emerald eyes, the livid look on them was enough to get him scampering back out.

So he kept quiet, and while Harry started shooting him suspicious looks at his sudden silence, he just kept on averting his gaze. He thinks that somehow, Harry seemed grateful for the break. It didn't last long though, because as determined as Harry was, Draco was a Slytherin and by the next day Harry was groaning in frustration and Draco was smirking in glee.

_Serves him right for not buying me my beloved beans,_ Draco huffs to himself So Harry continued to be annoyed and Draco continued to demand and complain and be a nuisance, like the whiny Malfoy he is. For Draco, it was a surefire way of wooing him, that is, by getting under his skin so much that he's stuck there. The brunet, Draco swore, was as oblivious as a man can get.

Draco remembered the time when he had tried to confess to Harry his feelings, and even up to now he can't help but wince at the memory. Draco had just wandered out of the study due to boredom, and when he had peered at the living room he saw Harry sitting at the sofa, reading a magazine. He took cautious steps forwards, and sank gently beside Harry, mindful of not falling through his seat. He snuck a glance at the brunette, took a deep breath and told him how much he felt for him.

After saying his part he looked at Harry's reaction, only to find him looking half-asleep, with that muggle ear contraption thingy that produces sound strapped in his ears.

Sometimes Draco wonders why he bothers.

_What did I ever do to deserve this?_ He sighed. A pause, and then he snapped to his subconscious. _Don't you dare answer that!_

Later that night he had stumbled on the machine that Harry had been using on his ears. He remembered from muggle gossip that you put a circular object inside it. He had poked and prodded its several buttons for a few minutes before the lid of the object suddenly popped open, revealing it to be empty. Draco stared confused at it, as he was sure you need one to be able to use said machine or for sound to come out. Odd. He pondered that, even up to now, but he hasn't come to any logical conclusion. Must be some muggle thing.

Back to the problem at hand, or, er, the lack thereof at certain times. The blond had thought that as long as his desire to make-out with the Prat-Who-Lived was high, it would be enough to let him keep a semi-solid state, but it seems that even that was not enough. Just this morning he had broken some dishes when his hand suddenly faded and then reappeared again. It was times like this he missed his normally milky white-complexion and oh, the ability to hold things longer? Oh no, he wasn't vain. Well, not really.

_Well, Potter's just going to have to buy another plate…_ Draco thought wryly to himself as he floated around the flat, looking at book titles and scrutinizing the pictures of the Golden Trio on the mantelpiece. He raised his eyebrow at the happy trio, reminiscent of their Hogwarts days. He wonders, as he was wont to do, how it would have been like if he was the one there with Harry, arms around one other and looking like nothing else in the world mattered except having the other beside him. Well, it should have been that way had a certain Gryffindor accepted his hand like he was supposed to!

Draco dared no longer venture into that idea. It hurt too much. Sometimes, it seemed that even Savior of the Wizarding world just cannot save everybody. He had been a foolish eleven-year-old boy who had thought that the Great Harry Potter could save him. Maybe, even up to now when he's no longer alive and kicking, he's still the same foolish boy who hoped, wished, that Harry would finally notice _him_ and save him. But, as he glanced at the solid proof of seven years gone by, there was no use to dwell on the might have beens, and just focus on the might becomes. Well, hopefully might become.

Yesterday afternoon, Draco had to admit, was one of the most awkward hours he had to spend in his life, because Weasley and Gran- er, _Weasley_ had came by for a visit. Draco decided to stay out of the way, but the melancholy look Harry sported after they left made him ponder what their discussion could have been about. All he heard were snippets of stuff you hear in oh, dating games? And surely Potter wasn't planning on dating someone else? _Ha! Over my dead body!_

_Hello? Reality check, Draco. You're already dead._

Sucks when your subconscious decides to get sarcastic on you every now and then. And if that wasn't enough, not only was he already dead, he's also dying while being dead, that is to say, he's fading into nothingness, nada, zip. Heh, Potter would probably sigh in relief when he's gone.

And that wasn't supposed to hurt at all, really. All he wanted from the Golden Boy was a kiss. You can't seriously expect a dead man to not even have his last wish? He hopes, at least, that it was that easy. That maybe he would have at least a memory of something beautiful when he crossed over, even if it would mean nothing to Harry.

_Man, I'm really living up to this dead thing by being depressing. Next thing I knew I'll be playing ghost this Halloween. Hmm, on second thought, that doesn't sound bad at all. Terrorizing little muggle naïve kids. Heh heh heh._

Draco shook his head and with a wry smile he drifted over the other pictures. He lingered on one which was a picture of Harry's parents, arms around one another. Beside them was, Draco realized, was the werewolf teacher with his mother's cousin Black who has his arm around the waist of the younger version of their DADA Professor, looking so comfortable together. _Interesting_, Draco thought to himself, _I remember now. Professor Lupin had died in the war, and he's probably together now with Black somewhere. I'll have to remember to talk with them when I finally cross-over. _Draco moved on to see wedding pictures of Weasley and Granger, Longbottom and the Weaselette.

Draco wonders why there is no picture of any girl, or well, guy for that matter, in any romantic notions with Harry. He remembered asking Harry about it on one sunny afternoon, and the brunette had shrugged his shoulders and said that, well, everyone just wanted him because he's famous. To which he had replied indignantly.

"Oh sure, let's love him cause he's famous. Not because he's brave, or noble, or always think of the good in others. Oh wait, he is that too! Now where did we hear that? I swear the Daily Prophet only says a lot of crap, but oh, what about the people he's _saved?_" Draco threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes. "I thought you already had enough melodrama and self-pity to last you a lifetime. That's my role Potter, not yours."

And well, Draco was sure he saw a flicker of amusement on green orbs before Harry shook his head and retired back to his room.

_At least_, he mused while trying to quell the happy feelings this brought him, _there's no one Potter would be bringing home any time soon. Eh, speaking of coming home, where IS Potter? He should have been home at least an hour ago._

An hour passed. And then another, but Harry still didn't arrive. Draco is already sick with worry, which is funny because ghosts aren't supposed to be sick, but he is. He drifted through and fro, torn from wanting to go out in search of him and staying home in fear of not being there when Harry finally returns. The blond tried to read a book to quash down his anxiety. He had been staring at the same page for more than a few minutes when the floo suddenly came to life and a pallid-looking Harry Potter stumbled out, body flush and beaded with sweat.

Harry vaguely heard a gasp as he seemingly drunkenly made his way towards his room. It felt as if a fire was consuming him, and his breath came out in shallow gasps. His head thrummed like someone had trampled and hammered at it with a bludger's bat. He barely managed to turn the knob to his bedroom, staggered inside and promptly collapsed on his back on to the bed. He squeezed his eyes, but no matter what he did the headache didn't go away.

There was a sudden dainty hand on his forehead, just on top of his scar. The hand was cool to the touch, comforting amidst the fiery heat. Harry remembered a memory, from a long time ago at a time when he felt as weak as this, when a delicate woman with fiery red hair and beautiful emerald eyes would softly lay her hand on his head and coo him to sleep. And just like that, he was one again, cradled in his mother's arms and feeling so loved and protected.

Draco lost track of just how long he had fussed over Harry's feverish state by laying his hand on that warm forehead. Harry growled when Draco made to pull back, and the brunette grasped one delicate wrist and pulled the blond flush against him. Draco turned a beet shade of red at this, as Harry's hand landed somewhere near his arse and ended up lying at the small of his back. The brunette made no signs of letting up, and while a large part of Draco was screaming how much he liked this, he was sure that nothing that good ever lasted for someone like him, so while his body shimmered he pulled back from Harry's grasp and was content to just stand beside Harry's bed, watching the now steady rise and fall of his chest.

After Draco had looked his fill, he turned and was about to go when he suddenly felt an impulse so strong that he just had to do it. The blond turned around, swooped down on Harry and gave him a butterfly kiss on the lips, then bolted out through the closed door.

Draco closed his eyes and felt a tear escape his closed lids. He leaned his ghostly body on the closed door, hoping, in his heart of hearts, as he felt his form shimmer and solidify, that Harry would not fall in love with him. It's okay, if Harry has his heart, but he doesn't want Harry to feel that Draco had left him when he's gone. All Draco had was borrowed time, and he wished that, even just once, the Fates would grant him happiness, after everything they've been through.

Draco wonders if, somewhere, his prayer was heard. Behind closed doors, though, the young man with a scar on his forehead slept on with a smile and a fluttering memory of a gentle kiss.

* * *

It was fairly obvious that Harry hated being sick. Since, well, he would smile whenever Draco enters the room wearing a frilly pink apron Granger had left behind and a hot bowl of soup on a tray. Should you ask Draco though, he would vehemently deny that he did anything of the sort for Harry. Malfoys don't turn into housewives, and anyone who says otherwise would have themselves haunted by a dead ghost.

Granted a gorgeous dead ghost, but he's still a ghost, and Draco insists that he can be scary if he wanted to. He did use to scare first-years off, so how can Muggles be any different?

* * *

Harry suppressed a yawn as he trudged up the porch steps of his flat. He had received dozens of worried get-well cards just earlier at his office, flooding the small room with letters and making his fireplace busy with several floo calls. He wryly wondered why people seem to only bother to notice him when he's been absent for a day due to sickness. Even his boss had paid attention to him when the man normally wouldn't on a regular day.

He paused for a moment, wondering if Draco would burst through the door and surprise him, just as the blond would do on a normally grueling day. He didn't understand why, when Draco didn't show up once he had the door opened, he suddenly felt a feeling of unease. He shook it off, and proceeded to take his coat off and trudge up to his room, passing by the living room and kitchen.

Then backpedaled.

It felt like he was missing…

The blond ghost was missing.

Harry quickly pushed away the fear that gnawed at him, at the eerie silence that mocked him so. He would eternally choose the sound of Draco's smooth mocking voice over this oppressing and at the same time deafening silence, reminding him of years gone by when he had thought that he was and would always be alone.

Harry frantically searched the house, leaving no nook and cranny uncovered. He had become so used to Draco being the one to answer the door or just being in plain sight as soon as he got home. He tore doors open and peered under the bed and through closets, but there was no sign of the Slytherin anywhere. Draco was not at his self-appointed chair at the study, nor was he bustling in the kitchen and there was certainly no sounds of china glass breaking. The living room was bare and neatly made, leaving no evidence of anyone being in the room for a full day.

Harry collapsed on his knees at the rough rug of his living room, feeling like a gaping hole was inside him. He just stared, disbelieving, at the empty seat for a long time, and when it finally did sink in, he schooled his features into an indifferent frown and sat down on the couch with a book in hand, trying to tell himself that it was something to do and not something to be a distraction. He didn't even realize that the book he was holding was the copy of Witch Weekly that featured himself on the cover, nor did he notice that it was upside down. The echo of his fast-beating heart had been too great.

They had been more alike than he ever guessed.

He didn't notice how long he sat there staring with only the tick-tocking of the enchanted clock as the only sound on the otherwise silent room. He kept on reliving scenes with Draco in the house, all the laughter, and teasing, being whiny and obnoxious and so much an annoyance that- bright silver eyes, silky soft hair and a sexy smirk. The blond was a beauty and he can now honestly say it out loud.

He damned him for leaving, hated him for it. Hated him because he's making him see just how much he missed him.

Just how much he loved him.

All of a sudden a ghostly form burst through the black front door revealing a sullen and sulky-looking Draco Malfoy. Harry just stared at him wide-eyed and he felt his emotions fill to overflowing. The blond didn't seem to notice him at first and was pouting and muttering to himself about rummaging through Hogsmeade for some Bertie Botts and not being able to touch his favorite candy because his hand just went through it.

"Where have you been?" Harry hissed, and Draco jumped at the sound of his angry voice.

"What? I was just-"

"You know what? I don't care."

And with that Harry stormed off, locking himself on his office, leaving a stunned and confused Draco behind.

* * *

It is All Souls' Day. That time of the year when people went around celebrating those who passed away. Draco knew, somehow, that this may be his last night, his last chance of ever getting his last wish fulfilled. Even in death he's unlucky, he even has a time limit, unlike all the others. Harry had locked himself on his office room and refused to acknowledge Draco, ignoring him for all he's worth. Draco, trying to cover how much Harry's attitude was hurting him by fueling his anger, started to annoy the hell out of Harry. This went on the whole day and well into the night.

Harry, with all of his confusing thoughts at starting to recognize feelings long buried, was the first to crack.

"Merlin Malfoy, will you ever learn to shut up? You're just a pain, a thorn that I can't seem to get _rid_ of!" Harry yelled, clenching his fists to alleviate the pain in his heart when Draco gave him a hurt look. Harry averted his gaze and turned his back to the blond. He had been so confused. Draco's next words, though, proved to be able to shatter his heart.

"It's ok, Harry. I'm used to people saying things like that to me. I just thought that you were different from everyone else. I was wrong."

Draco watched Harry's back sadly, biting back tears. He felt a tingle and he brushed his hand across his eyes, willing himself not to cry as he drifted half-way past the closed door once again, and maybe for the last time. He had hoped that Harry wouldn't love him, but he hadn't expected it to hurt this much. He gave Harry one last lonely, longing look, before floating through the flat and not stopping until he reached the back garden. He looked up at the starry night, hearing the twitters of trick-or-treaters outside, and then looked down at his hands, which were fading once more. It shimmered rapidly, with no signs of solidifying again. It spread rapidly, all throughout his body.

Harry could feel the sudden rapture of his beating heart, and his brain took a moment before it latched on to the thought that _his Draco _was leaving him He had raced outside, and grasped the doorknob of the back door. Flashes of everyone who left him, his parents, Dumbledore, Sirius and Remus, and his friends getting married seemed to make him reel forward till his forehead is resting on the solid wood. "I- I don't care if you _go_, everyone else does anyway!"

Draco sighed, turning to the sound of Harry's voice muffled by the closed door. "If only you had opened your heart for me even for a while, then you'll see that I've loved you for a long time now, and even if you forget me, I'll never forget you. At least, let me be alive in your memories."

There was silence for a while and all of a sudden the door was jerked open and Harry had stepped out, his wide shocked eyes resting on Draco, who was slowly but surely fading.

"My time is up." Draco said softly, smiling that one last smile at Harry.

For a moment, it seemed that Time had stopped, and everything seems to be like in slow motion. And as if waking up from a distant dream, Harry's eyes widened and all of a sudden he runs towards Draco, grabs him and kisses the daylights out of him.

Draco was shocked and he materialized for a few precious minutes in Harry's arms. Harry's tongue snaked out and mind still reeling Draco opened his mouth to accept it. Harry explored that heavenly taste and Draco shyly returned the conquest.

Harry pulled back a little with a soft groan and then whispered urgently to Draco's lips about not ever leaving, whiny git, and that he loves him. Draco only managed to grasp Harry's shirt tighter and Harry in turn clung to him in a possessive hold, as if afraid that if he even let go for a moment Draco would be gone. It took a long time for Draco to get out of his shock, and even more for the fact that Harry had confessed in loving him to sink in. When it did his heart seemed to do a somersault and he inwardly cheered.

_Harry loves me!_ He breathily thought. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

"Sometimes Harry, there are things that we can never truly change anymore. We deal with it, and make the most of it." Draco whispered. He opened his eyes and pulled back enough to be able to look at Harry's now forest green eyes, and then cupped his cheek with ghostly fingers.

"I'll stay, Harry, if that's what you want, till you're grey and will finally be able to join me for all eternity."

"Stay, for as long as you can."

"Mind you, you're the only one who would ever be able to touch me like this, and only if you desire it so much. I think." Draco sniffed. "You still owe me some Bertie Botts, bastard."

Harry sighed and smiled secretly. "I'll buy you all the Bertie Botts the Wizarding world ever has, spoiled, pasty, pointy brat."

"I am not pointy!" Draco yelled angrily and Harry laughed.

"You are so dead, Potter."

It is All Souls' Day.

* * *

The next days, weeks, month flew by like a blur. As promised, every afternoon found Harry at Hogsmeade with a box of Bertie Botts in hand, on his way back home. Harry had been working on Draco's case, and, with Draco's guidance and help they were able to finally have leads to his murderers, and were able to get an arrest warrant on the suspects. Three ex-Death Eaters now find themselves wanted all across the wizarding world with a million of Galleons as price on their head.

Draco had pretended to swoon when he came with Harry to the Auror meeting that was discussing his case. The Boy-Who-Lived had vehemently protected Draco's name to the others who were doubtful of the blond's innocence. He glared bloody murder at those who thought that the case should be dismissed, and in the end, it seemed that Harry had once again protected a soul, for the reasons that this time was too near his heart. Draco had called him 'his hero', and while outside they bickered like an old married couple, inside both were brimming with happiness and contentment.

Before they knew it Draco was already helping Harry set up the Christmas tree and put up decorations in the small, newly-renovated and styled flat (Upon Draco's insistence, ofcourse). At least, he's helping with the unbreakable ones. Draco supervised over their Christmas dinner, and before long they were staging a food fight. Needless to say Draco won, as some of the food just went through him.

And just like every other family or couple, or well, as dysfunctional as they may be, on this eve of Christmas night found Harry and Draco snuggled up in one of the couches, with Draco rummaging through the hordes of gift that Harry has gotten. Harry is content to just stir his cocoa, excited at the idea of Draco finding the gift that Harry had painstakingly got for him.

"I had wondered for a long time as to what I would get from you, Harry. And because I have intuition the size of my father's ego I'm thinking it has to be something really good. It _better_ be something good." The only sound heard after than was the rustle of the Christmas wrapper being torn by a semi-solid hand with the help of Harry.

Harry smiled inwardly. "Once you see it you'll love me forever."

"Hah, Potter. I look forward to the day when you're ninety and I'm still at the ripe of my nineteen year-old self." Draco smirked and finally pulled at the last hold of the wrapper on his gift.

"Well, Harry, I have to say this is the most, well, uh…"

"Don't complain, I call it being resourceful, and-"

Draco cut him off. "You have absolutely zero sensitivity to others, Potter. Ofcourse I loved it, where were you these past eighteen years when I was receiving all sorts of material gifts?" Rolling his eyes Draco turned the cover and began to look at all the pictures and notes on the scrapbook with a giddy, innocent sparkle on his face, laughing every now and then at some comments made by Crabbe or Goyle. "I'm so touched, Harry, really. This means a lot to me. I just _have_ to give you something of equal importance."

Harry paused from blowing on his hot cocoa and arched his eyebrow. "Oh? And what could be anything as important as that?" he queried as he took a small sip from his cup.

Without even missing a beat. "Why, my _virginity_ ofcourse."

The small living room table found itself sprayed on with hot chocolate. Draco narrowed his eyes and glared at him while Harry chokes on his drink.

"What?! I died a virgin, so what?"

Harry shook his head and thinks, with a smile, that Draco already gave him the best gift he could ever give by staying. Hmm, who would have thought that the great Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin would become a Gryffindor's guardian angel? And to Harry Potter no less.

And, well, just because he can say it now…

"Mine."

The blond gave a squeak of surprise when Harry pulled him to his lap, and blinked up at him when Harry pushed a strand of white blond hair away from his face. Instead of managing to tuck it back on Draco's ear, Harry's hand went through it and the stubborn lock of hair fell back against Draco's cheek. Harry stared at it indignantly and Draco burst into laughter at this. Before long Harry was infected with Draco's guffaws and then both of them were laughing heartily. Harry never remembered being ever this happy before.

He wondered how Draco does it, how the blond had always been able to affect him so much so that his presence was the first thing he notices, the only thing he keeps on looking for.

_All this time he had been the only constant in my life._

_I thought before that he was mean, but he's not. I think I understand now._ Harry mused was he watched Draco digging on the gifts and packages that came with the book. _He was hurt and lonely, just like me. I wonder why I never noticed before._

_Why is it that most of the time, it takes us almost losing a person before we realize how much we take them for granted? He was even more beyond of my touch before at school, and now he's mine. He made me realize I've not learned anything about love, until he showed me it's okay to have these feelings for him._

Fate works in mysterious ways. And on this winter Christmas night two souls found a way to be in each other's touch, in each other's arms.

_Finite_

* * *

Westkitsune: Aww, I do so love happy endings. Even if it IS corny. Harry does a lot of storming off, doesn't he? That guy both here and in JK's version needs some serious anger management. Though, the poor thing was all confused. Both of them were. Dearer, let's make more HarryxDraco one-shots!

ELIE: It doesn't need corrections at all, wuv:) And I love happy endings too. XD About your questions, uhm, I don't think that the cause of Draco's death needs to be mentioned. It doesn't affect the story anyway. And I think (ako lang to ah) that ghosts don't need to sleep because they're, well, dead. So Draco's pretty much awake all the time. XD

Westkitsune: Ah, makes sense. XD Sometimes I wonder why I like tormenting my fave characters so much, -huggles Draco- but I guess in the end the saying, "the ones we love are the ones we are capable of hurting the most." Also applies to my fandom. Review, please!

PS. Oh, and for all those SasuNaru fans out there, please watch out for our Naruto fanfic, entitled "Wanted: Ninja in Love."


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